Ghosts in my chest - by Xallyheart

It hurts to let gonot just of hands you once held,not just of voices you laughed with,but of the version of yourselfthat only existed when they were near. Maturity arrives quietly,like a shadow pressing on your chest,teaching lessons you never asked for:some people drift,some people change,some people vanish,and some…some diebefore you had the chance to say everything. And the worst partis acting calm,acting grown,acting “fine”while your chest shakeswith the weight of absence. There is a quiet achein missing someone alive,someone who turned away slowly,someone who walked out and never looked back.And yet…there is another achefor those taken by deaththe sharp, unmovable absencethat steals every future version of themyou imagined,every laugh, every word, every chanceyou thought would come later. You lose more than who they were.You lose every “maybe”that could have been,every version of themyou will never meet.The older them,the wiser them,the healed, laughing, imperfect themthat time could have sculptedif life had been gentle. Regrets slide down your spinelike ice water: “Why didn’t you call?”“Why did you wait?”“Why did pride matter more than truth?”“Why did I let them go?" Panic coils in your chest,tight, relentless,the panic of starting over,the panic of meeting someone newand knowing, deep inside,they might leave too. Even the toxic friendships sting now,because letting gowas still a wound.Even when you knew it was wrong,even when you told yourselfthey weren’t worth itthe absence still gnaws.Because we want what we cannot have,and even pain can feel like home. Death does not ask.Death does not negotiate.It cuts, it freezes,it leaves you alone in a roomof empty chairs,with echoes of laughteryou will never hear again.With shadows of conversationsyou cannot finish. And still, life moves on.New faces appear,words are exchanged,hands reach out,smiles curve across strangers.And you wonder,will they leave too?Will the next hand you holdslip away like every other?Will the laughter fadeand the friendship diebefore it can take root? Letting go becomes a woundthat never closes.You are not just letting go of a personyou are letting go of the future you imagined with them.The smiles you’ll never see,the conversations that ended mid air,the changes they never lived long enough to make,the next versions of themthat time never allowed. Some goodbyes sound like whispers.Some arrive like storms.Some are silent,some leave echoesthat ripple through years. And yet, the cruelest weightis the false hope we give ourselves.Some people come into our lives for a time,and we tell ourselvesthey might stay.But some friendshipsthe ones that matter the mostshould never be lost,and yet they are,and the ache remains. These losses sit in your chest,quiet, heavy, unmovable.The dead, the departed, the ones who drift,the ones you thought would stay,they take pieces of youthat no version of yourselfwill ever reclaim. You carry it allquietly, painfully,forever. Because this is what it meansto love, to lose,to hold, to let go,to be aliveand hauntedby those who are gone,and terrifiedof losing the ones still here.

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